Saturday, September 28, 2013

Divorce Times Week 12: Work Hard and Dye My Own Hair


Last night when I was watching (and a little bit participating in) some veryvery dreamy girls-on-girl play, I got such a pang for Sweetie, such a loneliness for what’s past. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about or work on our breakup. I’ve been working 50-60 hour weeks and my job takes up almost every shred of my consciousness whether I am there or not—that’s a great feeling but it is also exhausting. I have to wake up at 4 A.M. most days if I want to get blog posts done—as each weekend approaches, the urge to have more adventures is dulled a little bit by the fantasy of sleeping in all the way until 5:30. Maybe I just need more adventures I feel a little circumspect about? Nah, that’s no fun.

With all of that going on, it’s easy to deny the weight of what Sweetie and I are still living with, but sometimes it just creeps in. The other night I was exhausted from taking care of my students, staying late to fuss with the classroom, getting my lesson plans done, and dragging my ass to the gym but it was the only night to dye my hair, lest I risk going into the weekend with orange-tinged ears. I did it myself last time, but it took two tries, so I succumbed to the temptation to ask her to check for missed spots.

I immediately realized my mistake. Being in the cramped bathroom with her running her gloved fingers over my increasingly blood-colored head was just far too intimate. Her boobs looked appealing in her schlubby T-shirt and I almost absentmindedly made a grab for one. when I mentioned it, she looked into my face and started to cry, citing and urge to kiss me.

“It’s still there,” She said the next day, tearing up again, and I felt all the guilt and sadness of living with someone who still loves me and from whom I am just starting to move on.


So that’s part of why I’m working so hard. My job doesn’t feel super-secure yet and I know that the only way to keep it and be happy is to pour my whole self into it, give it every ounce of love that I can. The joy that I feel when I pick up my students in the morning is one of the deepest kinds of happiness I’ve ever known, and if I focus on that I can get me and Sweetie where we need to go. It just can’t happen fast enough.

Friday, September 27, 2013

A Veto and a Happy Accident Part Six: Better than Cake

The trickiest thing about Steampunk Guy is that he leaves before he leaves. For 95% of the time I’ve ever spent with him, he’s been more present than most other guys. I’ve only ever seen him answer his phone once, which shouldn’t be that special, but is. When it gets close to time to go home, though, he detaches all the way and triggers a really annoying don’t-leave-me response in my gut. Maybe it’s just something in me, but since he used to be one of those Pickup Artist guys, I wonder if it’s something he does on purpose. The Game is waiting dauntingly for me at the library so maybe I’ll find out.

Anyway, after that switch flipped, we were still having fun, but it felt a little sad. I cuddled back and forth between him and the Boss of Me couple. I wanted to go upstairs, goof around a little, and get aftercare, but he wanted to wait and see if he’d won the castle-shaped cake he’d been bidding on.

“I’m better than cake.” I said and he shook his head thoughtfully.

“I think that’s why we broke up in the first place...”

“Yep, I wanted to be better than cake.”

He talked about not doing aftercare, went on a little half-joking diatribe about why can’t it just be meaningless sex, why does there always have to be snuggling? This was an odd stance to take after two hours of on-and-off snuggling and he claimed to be kidding, but there was real emotion there. Maybe he’s just as frustrated about me not being Meaningless Sex Girl as I was back in June about him not being the Dream Guy. It’s amazing that we make good things happen with such opposite mindsets. Credit the smell of him, I think.

I was hurt and didn’t know whether to prevail upon him to do aftercare or just do it myself—the night was already a win, and it’s not like I’d been traumatized. I was all sadfaced but he met my eye and said “Just funnin’”

I perked up a little and he started unwinding the ropes there at the corner of the downstairs bar, and we bantered some more, getting oddly braggy with the other pair about our not-superconvincing broken-upness. Actually, we were never officially a thing, so I guess it was one of those not-really-a-breakup situations. We both hyperbolized and laughed about the many, many, women who are ahead of me in his queue. (All of whom were absent from the dungeon on this particular night, because sometimes the universe loves me.) (Not that I wouldn’t have welcomed a chance to co-snuggle with at least one of them.)

He went to see about the cake and I went upstairs to sit with my blanket, (blue fleece with cartoon monkeys this time) figuring if he got distracted downstairs I’d just leave as soon as I was alert enough to drive. He came up soon after, cake triumphantly in hand. He sat down next to me and said “Okay, come on.” and I crawled into his arms. This was the first aftercare time we’d had in the BDSM way, before it was just awesome postsex cuddling. But this was nice too. While I was wrapped up with SG, The Boss of Me came over and kissed me goobye. I thanked her and she told me very emphatically to friend her, and I said of course I would.

Once aftercare was done, my head felt a little yucky with confusion. I sat at his feet, put my head on his knee and said “Make me not confused,” but he’s not a top who’ll tell a girl what to think. Kneeling at his feet and wistfully kneading his lap, I talked myself through it:

“You’re still the same guy.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re never gonna, like, ask me out.”

“Haha, no.”

“And you’re never gonna know on Tuesday if you can see me on Thursday.”

“NOPE.”

“So nothing has changed except, we can be a thing that happens sometimes?”

“Exactly, like a happy accident.”

“Okay. You’re the “Thrift Shop” of humans.”

We talked a little more, debating whether the fucking had really been the thing that made me fall in love with him. I really don’t want anything to mess up the fantastic momentum I’ve got going, but let’s face it, (I didn’t say this at the time) probably I’ll fuck him a bunch more should the opportunity arise. I know my ass would thank me for it.

I got back into my rained-on dress and he paid me the rare compliment: “Oh, I like it. I liked naked better, but this is cute.” Praise like a shiny good luck charm to take home.

He walked me to my car and I made him put down the cake and kiss me in the drizzle. I drove home happy and proud. There was still a lot of hurt in my belly about the Cutest Boy, but I’d taken control over the evening and helped make it better than I’d hoped it could be.

The next morning, first thing, Steampunk Guy texted to see if I’d written about it yet and to say he hoped I’d gotten home safe. (Supergentlemanly, meaningless sex guy!) I thanked him again and told him to stay tuned.


So here is my new resolution: Accept the awesome. Whether it comes from him or any other member of this growing cast of characters, from a trusted pal or a stranger, I resolve to get out of my own way and let life lavish me with wonderfulness, often in the form of kisses and spanks.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Dears! Thanks for Letting Me Write About You!

In the midst of having a nice email exchange with The Boss of Me and Her Boy, it occurred to me to feel really, really lucky about all of the people who've risked the vulnerability of letting me write about them in the past couple of years. Thank you for playing with me and for trusting me with this side of the story. What an incredibly generous thing that is. All the snuggles.

A Veto and a Happy Accident, Part Five: He’s Sweet and She’s the Boss of Me



You know what I’m really coming to appreciate during all of these paragraphs? For all his aloofness and the other things that made us not work out, SG is a really good guy who gives me just what I want whenever he can. I’m grateful and I want to be awesome for him. Though he never complained about having to know me as the broken mess I was over the summer, I was so glad he got to see me the way I am now, no longer weak and desperate for him but confident and happy, enjoying him and myself and my friends. Since he’s kind of my sluttiness-muse, I liked him watching me spank my Winggirl, hit on a cute couple, and otherwise move through the place with ease. This is how I’ve always wanted to be.

While the crowd gathered round to bid in the live auction, SG started putting a harness on me, similar to the one he did back in June, a pretty woven design at the center of my chest, four ropes as straps over my shoulders. We were situated just behind where the auction was taking place, and while I know the crowd was looking at the items up for bidding and not at me, I got such a nice bonus center-of-attention feeling from them all facing in my direction.

When the bidding started on my own painting, I hid my head against his shoulder until I was relieved that it had gone above the minimum bid. My pals and I had been referring to it as a picture of my soul, and one doesn’t want one’s soul to go for cheap. I was glad to go back to being manhandled, having successfully contributed to the evening’s cause. As he ran his fingers over the supporting ropes to make sure they were in the right place, I felt a little pulse of electricity in his fingertips.

Once the harness was done, he pulled me into his lap to watch the auction. I sat with his arms around me, petting his hands and wiggling my ass against his (jeezImissitabunch) big hard cock. It was just like my dream, the feeling of contentment and release, and yes, closure. Summer is over. Whatever this is, it’s not that, and there’s no reason in this world not to enjoy each other, as long as I can see it for what it really is.

The fancier downstairs part of the venue is usually closed to the scantily clad on dungeon nights, but tonight it was open—there was a silent auction and also some charity spankings and such. SG wanted to go down there and, feeling a little bit vulnerable to rejection all roped up, I asked if I could come too. I held his hand walking through the crowd and felt so proud to show him off.

Friends, I really had myself convinced over the summer that he wouldn’t want to be seen with me. He thinks that’s silly and so do I, but at the time I just thought that since he and Steampunk Girl are so hot, and presumably all of his other ladyfriends are equally sexy, that I just couldn’t measure up. Again, the more I want something, the more I assume I’m unqualified for it. It’s kind of cool how, despite giving little-to-no praise, SG has helped me to dismantle so many unhelpful assumptions about myself. His actions just kind of make me confront my not-unhotness. Anyway, walking through the dungeon holding his hand meant a lot, but I also think maybe it should not be such a big deal.

Winggirl One wanted me to watch her get spanked, so we situated ourselves at the corner of the bar where we could see the whole room. The rope top girl and her boy were a few stools down, still all dreamy-faced and content. I went over to flirt some more and she looped the boy’s wrist-ropes through the top of my harness and I said “Now you’re The Boss of Me.” and then they were named. Naming him “The Boss of Me’s Boy” makes me feel slightly less sexist about all the “so-and-so’s girl” type names I’ve come up with.

Maybe my favorite moment of the night was when Steampunk Guy made sure I went over there and asked them if they were okay being written about, so I wouldn’t have to leave anything out of the story. It was him being a friend, kind of a Dom, a partner-in-crime and (maybe best of all, I’ll admit) a reader all at once. Almost better than snuggles.

Shortly after that conversation (or maybe it was before) The Boss of Me came up behind me, started rubbing my bum and moving my panties up. I leaned all the way over the bar and put my head on SG and he held it, petting my hair while he watched the crowd and The Boss spanked. The combination of the two of them was a bi-girl fruition, and I got sleepy with joy. I may have even heard a line of praise from him (“Yeah, she is hot, isn’t she?”) but he just as easily could have been talking about someone else.

I sure felt hot, no matter who he was talking about. Like SG’s spanks, The Boss’s were more sensual than hurty. I was destined to end the evening feeling more loved-up than dominated. Except.

She yanked me up by the back of my harness and with one quick, fluid motion pulled me around to Steampunk Guy’s front, pushing me hard into his lap and against him. I gasped at her force, panted and he held tight, panting too and losing his cool beneath me for a tiny second, an out-of-breath crack in his armor that I just fell right into. He held me roughly and she spanked harder until they both declared me finished and she pulled me up and kissed me a little more. I thanked her, clinging to her arms and feeling dizzy.

Next: A thing that can happen sometimes.







Wednesday, September 25, 2013

A Veto and a Happy Accident Part Four: Ropes and Girls!



“You got the rest of those ropes in your bag?”

“Um, yeah.”

“So maybe you could put them on me?”

“Maaaaaybe, since that’s your thing…”

“One of my things, yes.”

After some more smooching and spanking, I went to put tape on and we met up in the opposite corner of the room, the same corner where all of the Cute Master shenanigans too place last time.

It’s hard to put into words the feeling of unrealness that followed me throughout the night—I’d wanted to be here with him over the summer, wanted it so badly that I’d always been terrified to ask. The difficulty of asking for something is often proportional to how much I want it—a silly and counterproductive habit I’m trying to break. So Saturday night, although I was an entirely present animal, I felt like I was walking through a fantasy as well—a fine feeling for a pretty series of scenes.

I hadn’t even thought about having ropes on since Sweetie, it seemed like one of those deep things that might make me get attached. But all I felt as he sat there unwinding and sorting his shiny cream-colored ropes was glad anticipation—there’s a reason it’s called play. I think I’m done with ruling out things based solely on the idea that they might get me attached—it can’t be predicted and I think I can trust myself to decide from moment to moment.

After I made a comically awkward attempt to go over his knee, (One thing the Regular Dungeon really needs is couches.) he instructed me to kneel at his feet. I put my arms around him and he spanked. I don’t remember any pain, though there must’ve been some. He pushed my face down close to his crotch and held it there, gently forceful. (Which reminds me, pal, I’m pretty sure blow jobs aren’t what makes me fall in love…) While I was still kneeling between his legs, he started a rope corset. I loved the smell of him and the softness of his hands grazing my waist and back. Instead of going into a ropey trance like sometimes happened with Sweetie and others, I got more awake and more brazen.

He had me stand so he could work the ropes better, and in the process of standing I accidentally backed into another rope scene that was happening on the bench perpendicular to us—and look who it was! The rope top girl with her cute boy and pink rope who’d so inspired me last time. I apologized for backing into her and she said it was enjoyable. I told her how much I’d liked watching them last time and informed her that we should be friends forever.

It’s occurring to me that I should stop giving SG a hard time about being incorrigible—I am certainly getting there!

I kept chatting them up while Steampunk Guy focused all the way on the corset. The rope top girl complemented my boobs and I told her she could touch them absolutely any time. She got up and, one hand still tethering her boy by his blue-rope-handcuffed wrists, copped a feel. I think that’s the first time she kissed me, too, easy as if she’d been doing it for years, as if she was just naturally entitled. It just turns me on so much when people act entitled to me.

At another point during his corset-making, I decided that SG and I should catch up on some high-fives, since we’d missed so many over the past two months. The rope top girl joined in, showing me a tattoo on her wrist that simply said “Awesome.” If that’s not a sign that my life is on the right track, I don’t know what is.

As he was putting the finishing touches on the corset, I spotted Winggirl One across the room and remembered that she was supposed to be first, and I know how stinky it is to have to wait, so I asked SG if we could pause the ropes for me to go and give her the what-for I’d promised. He agreed but kept winding and weaving the rope, and when I started to wander off he yanked me to him by the rope at the center of my middle, and I bubbled over with glee, jumping up and down like the ridiculous girl that I am.

My idea was for him to help me beat her up, but for whatever reason it didn’t work out that way. She was at the corner of the bar, not really looking like she was waiting for anything. I grabbed her by the hair and led her over to the corner. Part of what she’d asked me to do was convince her to get as naked as I was, but she needed no convincing, stripping down to her sheer black panties and pretty pink and black embroidered bra. She was bolder than last time and chose a kneeling bench close to the center of the room.

I had a lot of aggression to let out, and she let me. She helped me to figure out how to give her the thuddy spanks she wanted, coached me when I got to stingy. We had to pause for a moment so that the auction items could be announced (It was starting in a few minutes. I had donated a painting and the idea of watching it get auctioned felt much more vulnerable than any of this…) but when I started up again I just lost self-consciousness and whaled on her until she stopped me. I gave her a kiss and a hug, asked if she was okay and she was, except she had to remind me that she doesn’t love wedgies the way that I do. Ohno, sorry lady!

I ran back over to Steampunk Guy, worn out but warmed up from the spanking, ready and excited for more ropes.


Next: Just like in the dream.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

A Veto and a Happy Accident, Part Three: All the Closure



What I felt when I saw Steampunk Guy come up the stairs was what I always suspected I would: pure joy and the hope that he was as happy to see me. He looked at me like I was up to no good and then we both smiled big. I kinda flung myself into his arms and oh sweet halleluiah, he hugged me ass-first, one check in each big strong hand, squeezing hard. He was, in the traditional sense, happy to see me, huge and hard against my front. My arms around him tight, I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in, felt a kiss on the back of my head, on my neck, hands in my hair and ohpalthisisdefinitelyhappening looked into his face, grabbed the back of his hair and kissed him hard, two months worth of kiss, all the things we didn’t get to do yet in a moment of forgetting my friends were there, that the party was there and we were in fact blocking the only way in.

I pulled away laughing and said “That’s not how I thought that would go…”

I got his rope out of my purse and explained that I’d sort of seen it as a gesture of closure. He ran his hand over my bra, pressing my nipple and squeezing hard like he owned the place. I closed my eyes and felt happy and dizzy and wet and then we made out some more.

“So much closure…” he said in a faux-wistful voice.

“Oh, I know, I’m totally moving on,” I said, while basically devouring his face.

“Should we do some stuff?” I asked.

“…Maybe…” He has this romance-novel-character way of being charmingly noncommittal, even when he’s clearly excited.

There’s a half-walled area near the bar where the fireplay usually takes place- spectators can lean on the wall and look in. He went over there, found an empty spot behind a suspension rig, and casually watched the fire while I made my way over.

“Just hanging out, mingling…”

I looked around and said “Eh, I know enough of these people,” and turned to face him, stepping up onto the base of the rig so that I was taller than him in my heels (The pretty shoes are the real heroes of this story, I think. I just love them so.) and kissed him some more. I felt like a sex goddess movie star, all gorgeous and happy (I keep saying happy) and climbing all over this beautiful friend who was for some reason letting me have my way with him. I felt like I’d won the play-party lottery.

We joked (Well, I was joking) about the possibility of fucking:

“I do have a car, I’m just sayin…’”

“You suuuure do!”

“And we never got to that whole anal thing…”

“I know! That is the part that needs the most closure!”

But this isn’t that kind of story.

He said some incorrigible thing and I smacked him across the face, inspiring him to grab one of my pigtails hard and yank my head all the way to the side, then grab hold of the other one and kiss me while my head couldn’t move. Did I already use the word happy too many times? It just felt so good. He yanked me toward the floor until I was crouched at his feet. His hand went up my neck and over my mouth and he left it there, soft and warm and where I’d wanted it to be since July.

There’s never been a lot of subspace going on when I play with him—it’s always been more of a sex-friendship than a power exchange—but there at his feet with his hand over my mouth I felt a deep calm, a quiet descended over me. It was an oasis, a break from every single thing. I felt safe and adored and adorable and childlike, at peace. I kissed his hand and rested there, content.

He yanked me back up, losing a button from his jeans in the process—“Must be all the closure!” I said.

I turned around and stuck my ass out for him, leaned my hands against the rig. He smacked and squeezed, smacked and squeezed, and of course I wished his fingers could go all the way in everywhere. So little of this was about pain, it was the opposite of my last awesome trip to the dungeon. He plays more like a lover than like a Dom, it’s about pleasure much more than sadism (except for always wanting to be rough on the boobs, grrr) so I was cooing rather than screaming, and there would be absolutely no emotional hangover the next day.


Next: Ropes! And the girl with the “Awesome” tattoo.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Post-Veto Mini-Update and In Defense of Pausing Friendships


















So even though I think I was a jealous brat in my conversation with the Cutest Boy on Saturday, he disagrees and agreed to my suggestion that we start the friendship over after some space and time. We've both apologized about a hundred times, so it's safe to say we still care and want the other to be happy.

I've often been accused (never by the people directly involved) of being too controlling with this way I have of pausing friendships that have gotten freighted with unrequited stuff. It's usually very nice poly people telling me that it's saying I only want to be around the person if they give me what they want, but that's not it at all, in fact, it's the opposite.

The fact is, unrequited (or disallowed-from-being requited, it amounts to the same) feelings suck the fun out of things and put a burden on both (or all) parties involved. By giving them (and myself) space, I'm saying (or have always meant to say) that I have enough faith in the connection between us to leave it alone until it becomes unfraught. I'm saying that what they really want is more important to me than whatever I've been wishing for, because none of this is any good without authenticity.

It seems to work, and I hope it does this time, too.

A Veto and a Happy Accident, Part Two: Steampunk Guy Ex Machina


(It’s taking a lot of paragraphs to get to the juicy parts, pals, but I promise to make it worth it.)

In light of having found some real-life snuggles and some more time to rest, I’m feeling really guilty about how upset I got with Cutest Boy. I wasn’t taking enough responsibility for what happened—I walked us right to that veto and hurt our friendship in the process. He was being so good and trying to do the right thing by breaking it off, and I treated him badly about it. I know guys get really upset when they’ve hurt someone, intentionally or not, and I hope he’ll forgive me for how harshly I reacted. Because he’s such a nice boy, he says there’s nothing to forgive, but the most important lesson here is that I am driving this particular sexTARDIS and I need to be the one to take better care of my choices.

Back to Saturday, while I was still smarting from the breakup conversation, I got a text from Steampunk Guy asking if I was going to the Regular Dungeon that night. When I told him I was going to a different party and said he’d wanted to ask me to bring him the rope that he left at my house.

It was tempting to conflate the two conversations, to see this as him saying he didn’t want to remember what happened, that I should give back the rope and move on. The tone of the text didn’t suggest that (in fact, it kind of seemed like the opposite, but maybe that’s just in retrospect) and neither had any other exchange we’d had since July. He isn’t a subtext guy. He was asking for a rope, not a metaphor. Still, I felt a little sad and wondered if I was too fragile to see him. Even though I was sorely tempted to switch parties and go and go say hello, Old Timey Guy’s party seemed like the safer bet.

It was a dreary, drizzly night and I had a tough time getting out the door. When I got to the party, it felt off. My protectors were as welcoming and lovable as always, but the air felt stifling with smoke and I could tell that though the night was headed someplace good, it sure wasn’t headed someplace snuggly. I felt disconnected from everyone even though it was all folks I heart playing with and near.

Punk Rock Girl offered me a drink but I knew I couldn’t stay. I cried on Old-Timey Guy’s shoulder for a minute. I could write again about how aggravated I was to be crying at another party, but I think it’s time to accept that that is just a thing that I do. I picked up my suitcase and wished everyone fun, sniffled my way back to the car.

On the drive home, though, something shifted. My tearfulness turned into determination, anger with myself for giving more time to foolishness. Frustrated from the someday-maybeness of the Cutest Boy, I thought that it might be a good time to clear the docket of all the someday-maybes, and in a weird way, that’s kind of what happened. Spoiler alert, “closure” became the running joke of the evening.

This is a lot of paragraphs of fuss that should just read “I wanted to go see Steampunk Guy.”
He wants his rope back? I’ll GIVE him his rope back.

I texted and said “Am bringing you your rope, be ready!”

And he said “I’m ready.”

I stopped into the apartment, high-fived Sweetie, threw the rope into my purse, and stamped out the door. The rain was coming down hard now and it suited my bratty mood perfectly. Every worry about the dungeon seemed like so much of my own fussy cock-blocking nonsense. Cutest Boy’s Girl was on the RSVPs? So what? Worried about how it might feel to see Steampunk Guy? Jeez, rip the Band-Aid off already. I knew Winggirl One would probably let me spank her and would definitely give me lots of cuddles, and that was the only play I was expecting. I just wanted to be out among people and be finished wasting time being a sniveling scaredy party-crying wuss.

When I sloshed into the Regular Dungeon, it was packed. There was a charity auction that brought together all different elements of the scene. I took off my wet dress and left on my black pushup bra, black and white polka-dot undies, and my new pair of hot-teacher shoes. That plus pigtails seemed like exactly what one should look like when giving back ropes to a favorite former sex-pal. My friends were chatting at the bar and laughed at me for how quickly I’d stripped down. The bar’s right by the door, and I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he walked in.

Next: He walked in.


Sunday, September 22, 2013

A Veto and a Happy Accident, Part One: A Dream and the Part that Sucked

So before I slog through the cry-my-heart-out-about-the-Cutest-Boy-at-the Party part of yesterday, I have to backtrack to about a month ago, to a dream about a different guy. One morning I had a dream that Steampunk Guy and I were at the same event, gathered around watching something happen. Unsure of how to approach him, I decided to simply crawl into his lap. He told be he was glad that I’d stopped keeping things at arm’s length. After that, things were (in the dream) resolved and I wasn’t abstaining from him anymore. I woke up with such a warm feeling of well-being.

Later that day, in real life, I was goofing around in my facebook inbox and found, in that silly “other messages” folder, a message from him from when we first met. I friended him and that’s (somewhat paradoxically) how I started to feel like we were actual friends. It’s easier to have perspective about someone when he’s busy pressing “like” like all the other human beings.

Anyway, so that’s some foreshadowing for the awesome part of the story (During which, I swear, I meet and play with a girl who has “Awesome” tattooed on her wrist.) but first I need to plow through some nonsense I was foolish enough to put myself through.

A few weeks ago, I gave myself this gold star for breaking things off with the Cutest Boy at the Party because his relationship wasn’t in a place where he could have playpals. It was exactly the right choice and if I’d had enough faith and willpower I would’ve stuck to it, except that I missed him too much after I’d stopped him from texting.

Once my feelings for him simmered down (I thought) from five-alarm crush to potential someday play partner, I got us back into the habit of texting, and we both got us back into the habit of flirting. We joked about taking the sexTARDIS to a time when we could play. One day he let me know he’d be alone for the evening and I instigated a pretty wonderful sexting session. The boy is a very gifted writer, and though he’s never touched any of my pink parts, he makes me wetter than anyone else does. (He was also a loyal reader, which means he knows which buttons to push.) It was so much fun that, when I got to the gym afterwards, I made the receptionist lady high-five me.

I knew I wanted more than texting though, real life rather than the sexTARDIS. (Of which, I’m proud to say, I was unquestionably the driver.) But we kept texting all day every day, and he got me through a 12-hour workday by talking about being my slutty Companion and suggesting I hit on the parents at Back to School night. One evening he just called for no reason, and though that felt like it might be progress toward real life, I also suspected he was sneaking the call.

Yesterday, I was enjoying my day off and reveling in the newest Chuck Klosterman book, feeling decadent with free time on my one day off this week. It was the first time I’d been alone and not-moving all week and it felt AMAZING. Three texts came from CBATP, unusual for a Saturday. (By the way, Dear Couples: All-weekend radio silence is for the birds. Best, Single Poly Girl) He said she was still jealous and still didn’t want to play with anyone else, and didn’t want him to either. I offered again to stop flirting, and he said yes, that would be best.

There were absolutely no high-fives in this breakup-type-thing, friends. (There needs to be a name for breakups of things that are not things yet.) He was doing the exact right thing and he said he still hoped to be play partners some day, he just didn’t want to lead me on or hurt me. Too late, pal.

I called him crying like a complete fool.

“I guess I just want to say goodbye.”

“No! No goodbye!”

He said he still wanted to be friends but I knew there was no way I could keep in touch with him without keeping the fantasies going for myself. He just turns me on so completely, and apparently turns my heart on too. Goddamn these boyfriend material guys who are not for me.

Anyway, I pointed out in kind of a not-nice way that we aren’t friends, that we were something else, and it was a real and good something else. I told him that I hated that one person got to decide for the three of us whether that potential got followed. His answer was vexing, predictable, and stabby: “Because I love her.”

Of course he loves her! Why the fuck should that preclude him liking me?! Why is this a reason to throw away a perfectly nice girl with everything to offer? My poly brain will never fully understand it.

Poly-tease couples are becoming my one of my very least favorite things. It happened earlier this year, too, during the time the blog was off. A nice Swinger couple got me all in a tizzy for them and then they decided they weren’t ready even to just go to stuff with me. I was superpissed then and I felt bad for getting mad. I know I should be all “Thank you for taking care of yourself.” whenever there’s a no, but I can’t always pull it off.  Seriously, couples who are just thinking about opening up: Get your shit together before you get my fantasy-engines going. Grrrowr.

I pointed out that at no point in the past two weeks had he acted like someone who was unavailable, but that is not quite true. He said he’s been trying to make it okay on his end but it just wasn’t working. Oddly his girl offered me snuggles around the same time on Fet, so I don’t think he actually TOLD her who he was being a no-go with. I think I may have been vetoed without even having been named in the conversation. Or maybe I wasn’t vetoed at all and he was just using her as an excuse.

We didn’t hang up the phone on good terms. I was pissed at him for dumping me and for messing with my party swagger for the evening. I said jealous things I’m really not proud of. After we got off the phone, I cried so hard that I thought I’d implode.

It was only a few weeks and we never even kissed in real life (And I think only once in a text…) but that combination of that really intense and beautiful aftercare and the all-day-every-weekday conversations got me invested in a way that left me surprised and devastated.

But in the end, I’m glad I let myself get giddy for him. I’m glad I drove us through all those conversations and imaginary adventures, even though it wasn’t strictly the right thing to do. Usually when a thing gets broken off, I delete all the texts first thing, watch the little yellow progress bar count through them as they go, but I’m putting that off for a little while. He was special, and I’m sad he was gone.

Next: I put on pretty underpants and head for Old Timey Guy’s.



Friday, September 20, 2013

Happy Friday/Song of the Week: My Kink Life as "Thrift Shop"

So (if you're an amazingly wonderful reader of mine) you might remember "Thrift Shop" playing at an awesome plot-point over the summer, and it's been one of my favorite swagger songs ever since. Lately I've been listening to it on the way to work every morning thinking about how it's a good way to approach life in general and kink specifically. Though I'm clearly a very goal-oriented and fairly type-A person, I find that I'm happiest lately when I'm trusting synchronicity, getting superexcited about the experiences I find for their own sake, and just assuming that something really fucking awesome is going to happen. It can't be like that all the time, but jeez, I've found some finds.

Plus, it's nice to be doing it my own way--I'll never fit in everywhere but I'd rather be the flannel zebra jammies than the fifty dollar T-shirt any day!

All the luck and love for your weekend adventures!


Thursday, September 19, 2013

Mini-Update and a Helpful/Hot Poly Weekly Episode

This week-before-last Poly Weekly episode ,while not really an advice-y one, really helped me to think about post-scene endorphins and how they were influencing the way I perceive partners during postscene days. (And sometimes weeks!) Once I started noticing the chemical changes, it helped me to simmer back down to having perspective about certain cuties a little bit faster.

Which is an awesome gold star for me because I know that getting upset about crushes often keeps me from getting to know the people I'm most drawn to. It would be a fantastic pattern to break. Huzzah!


Monday, September 16, 2013

Divorce Times Week 10: Oh Yeah, Grief and Fear

It’s hitting me so hard today—the feeling that I’ve failed. I failed to make my family, failed to find the right love, and now I may have lost my chance. I feel one million years old. All over my life, people know how to do this, and I don’t: falling together, clicking into place and figuring out what works for them, settling into the dailiness of love, and I’m writing while my ex-wife catches up the bills in the other room. I hate it so much and I don’t know how to get to the other side.

A week ago, for the past while actually, I’ve been feeling good about things, feeling like my momentum would just carry me along to wherever I need to be. For whatever reason, today that left me and I see the precariousness of the situation, I can’t feel any faith.

I am so scared, everybody, that no matter what I do or try, it will be forty years from now and I’ll be on my deathbed realizing that I never realized the dream that meant the most, the only thing I ever really cared about, that I never found true love. What if I have to spend the rest of my life just WATCHING love and never having my own?


Because what if whoever made me just forgot to put the lovable part in? What if I’m just not supposed to be a part of it?

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Ex-Whatever as Benchmark: A+ for Improved Standards and Good Instincts



I was pissed before I even got into Mister Hazel Eyes’s car. He got lost on the way over and when I called to see if I could help, he yammered for like 20 minutes without telling me his cross-streets or asking a single thing about me. I think this is a thing that I do when I’m nervous, too, though, especially if it’s somebody I really like. Nonetheless, I went from heels to flats before he got here.

I remember him picking me up for that last date last August and seeming put-upon, like his life was way too hard and I was making it harder by being his date. All of the anger I felt about him ditching me last year came out, I had no idea I was still mad!

As we drove and talked, he told me I’d been right about him having a secret-someone at home when we were dating—he says she was his ex-wife then and that they are still living together now. I’d always wondered if I’d been being paranoid thinking he had a secret-lady, but I guess I really was reading the clues right—go me!

He’s still living with his (he says she’s his ex, anyway) wife after all this time!? If that doesn’t remind me to get my still-too-dependent-on-Sweetie ass in gear, I don’t know what will!

So here’s what I realized as we drove along and everything he said was making me more and more aggravated, every story showing him to be petty, immature, and needlessly harsh—I felt the same way then. I didn’t like him, plain and simple. There was no reason to have tortured either one of us about it. Back then it felt like every guy was a rare chance, my only way towards happiness because if I didn’t learn to like this one, if I didn’t somehow adapt myself to whatever mess he was, then I would never be flexible enough to find love.

I know I was doing that that trying-to-make-myself-like-someone-who-doesn’t-fit thing with The Man, too, and to a lesser degree with some others, but hopefully that nasty habit is behind me now. Part of the reason I thought that way was because that’s just how I saw my marriage—I thought that if I didn’t force myself to love Sweetie for the rest of my life, then I was failing at love and would never be mature or responsible enough to have real relationships. It’s one of the ways I was convincing myself to stay with her and I am so, so thankful that I don’t have to feel that way anymore, that hopefully now I have a chance to find loves that actually work.

Mister Hazel Eyes pulled the car over so we could be face to face (A relief, his driving gives me the jitters.) and I started to cry.

“You treated me like shit, like I was an imposition, and I didn’t deserve that. I was afraid to say anything because I thought you’d leave. I didn’t really have any self esteem back then.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I treated you badly. I disappeared because I knew I wasn’t good enough for you.”

Which sounds like a really bullshit thing to say, but in this case it really rang true. It’s never really seemed fair to me, seemed undemocratic somehow, to say that someone’s not good enough, but if you look at the guys I’ve liked lately, there’s absolutely no comparison at all. I wonder if I’ll say the same thing about these guys in a year—I hope not ‘cause I heart having them as pals.

“You just left me like I wasn’t there, like I wasn’t anything. I just wanted to say goodbye! I thought it was because of something wrong with me all this time, but it wasn’t.” I was still crying lightly into my wasted makeup.

“I’m sorry. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman and you didn’t deserve to be treated that way. I can never really make it up to you. You can totally punch me in the arm if you want to.”

I laughed and said “Can I smack you right across the face?”

“I respectfully ask that you don’t.”

He told me some more off-putting things about his life, all the proof I needed that I’m now officially in the post-schlub phase of my existence.

“I’d like to go home now, please.”

We hadn’t been driving that long, but the way home seemed to take forever, full of tentative wrong turns. To lighten the mood I did punch him on the arm, and it made me laugh. He said I could beat him up some more when we got out of the car, and I’d been kind of spoiling for a fight all day, but this isn’t that kind of story. Without the respect and joy that I feel for my playpals, it would have just been sad.

On my street, he pulled onto the same spot where we’d car-cuddled after our last scene.

“Sure you don’t want to hit me?”

“No, there’s no reason to hit you. It just wasn’t a match and I can’t believe I made such a big deal out of it. I should’ve been able to just scroll past. Let’s have a high-five for closure.”


It was a very sad high-five, and he is a very sad guy. Where my present pals wake me up and make me feel more vital, he dulled my senses and made all the good things seem far away. That’s what looking to the past does, and even though I’m up-in-the-air with my living situation and still kinda aching ‘cause I can’t smooch CBATP, I love the present so much, and I want to just stop and revel in how far I’ve come.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part Four: Got in Trouble for Running



When it was Winggirl One’s turn to get spanked by Cute Master, I got all excited and offered to help hold her down—I’ve always wanted to do that! He thought it was a pretty good idea and I like being helpful.

So WO knelt down in the same spot I’d just been in. Pretty Slave held down her left shoulder and I held down her right. She relaxed into his strikes at first, but then started to buck and fight. I loved the tension of her body pushing against me. Forcing her back into position, I felt a real mean streak come out, all the way up from my belly. I didn’t really hurt her, but I was sure riled up to hold her down and I loved that PS and I were working on this together, as a team. I’ve always aspired to be a good team player.

When he offered to beat her up front, though, I had to tag out. I just don’t want to be a part of boob-hurting. I wandered off to where Old-Timey Guy and co were situated and caught the eye of The (soon to be) Puncher. His face lit up with an enormous grin and he said “Oh, I know that look. You’d better run.”

How to have complete and utter joy, if you’re me: be in bra, underpants and heels running as carefully as I could through the party (didn’t want to mess up anybody’s scene or get a stray single-tail in the eye) with a boy in pursuit. What a perfect moment, even after the Dungeon Owner called out “No running!” and I had to only pretend to run. “Run slow!” a member of the crowd called out helpfully, and that’s what I did.

There’s a bar in the corner of the party that they don’t use, and I’ve spent many a happy moment bent over against it. That’s where I chose for our scene. I realized I was still in my bra and had to go get situated—I ended up bonding with some new friends in the bathroom over my Hello Kitty tape, it never fails.

The Puncher was responsible and considerate (part of the reason I trust him is because he’s been guided by Old-Timey Guy) asking what not to do. Most of my limits didn’t seem like things that would come up, but I rattled them off anyway. They just don’t feel the way they used to, the limits. Should write about that sometime.

Aside from his youth, The Puncher is exactly my type--tall, big, and scruffy-smiley, and his big hands did not disappoint. They stung against my end-of-the-night tender behind. I grabbed hold of the bar and held steady, screaming my head off as I’m wont to do.

“Do you mind a little punching?”

“Go for it!!”

And that felt even better than the spanks. Deep, emphatic thuds I could feel all the way through my pelvis. I felt my hoo-ha swell up and get wetter and everything started to seem really out of control down there. I’ve never felt anything quite like it—aroused in like six directions at once and throbbing/pushing back in rhythm with his hits. It hurt so bad and felt so wild but I just kept white-knuckling the bar, braced myself and pushed my ass out for more.

He came close behind me and leaned up to my ear to check in. (Is there any better feeling? Well yes, but Dom-leaning-in-to-ask-how-I’m-doing is definitely close to the top of the (LOOOONG) list.) I was out of breath and flustered, sweaty and a little scared, but I said keep going, and he did for a while. It was one of the few scenes I’ve stopped because I’ve actually had enough. He said I hung in there longer than most.

We hugged a good long time standing up, but I knew I should ask for more snuggly aftercare. (I should’ve asked beforehand, bad girl, but I don’t always want it or need it.) I felt shy about asking because I didn’t know what his agreements were—aftercare just seems so much more personal than all the other parts.

But he was so sweet, and he said it was up to me, not him if we had aftercare, and we went to find a quiet spot. I was still flushed and panting and so was he. It was such a nice purely animal-comfort feeling wrapped up in his arms. His heart was racing so fast and I liked the vulnerability of that. Snuggling with The Puncher didn’t have the same emotional resonance as the CBATP cuddles from the week before, but I loved just feeling like happy animals with him.

He apologized for sweating all over me but I explained about Lesbian Island, how I’d been deprived of men so long that dude smell is always such a very very good thing. The Puncher’s Girl came over and I thanked her for lending him to me—she was so excited that we’d played.

***Note: I am a terrible feminist when it comes to handing out pseudonyms. I keep naming girls after the names I’ve given their boyfriends, when of course they have their own identities and could be named a million other things. But there are getting to be a lot of characters and it’s helpful to keep track of who belongs to whom. Also, I keep referring to women as girls, but that’s just because I like to.***

We all sat around and chatted for a bit before I realized that I was satisfied to the point where I kinda needed clothes back on. (“Boring!” said The Puncher’s Girl, who herself was back in her pretty, flowy dress.)

I went back over to where I’d left my suitcase and got dressed. Pretty Slave very helpfully took my tape off for me. It was time to start saying goodbyes, and in the process I found out that Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl have a party coming (at this house that I got chained to one time) and once I got myself invited I jumped up and down with little-girl glee. Old-Timey Guy always brings that out in me.

I squeezed Cute Master and Pretty Slave into a three-person hug and thanked them for everything.

“Keep inviting me to stuff, ‘cause I’m only gonna get sluttier!”
“We’d like you even if you weren’t.” said Cute Master.

Aw.


The next day I realized I maybe had pushed myself a little too far. I felt a little like I’d smoked a cigarette, even though I haven’t in ten years, and a little paranoid that I’d messed up somehow, even though there was absolutely no evidence. I think partly I’m nervous about how well things have been going, that it somehow won’t be true, but I’m going to do my best to just keep letting awesome things happen, after a teensy little break to process and let all of those fantastic bruises heal.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part Three: Yes, I’m a Cuddle Slut


Pretty Slave was now the one kneeling next to me on the (regular) bench. Her skirt was pulled all the way up and her black lace panties were glorious. She really has the most amazing ass, you should see it. Cute Master spanked her and I loved the sound of her voice as she cried out.

Between me, Pretty Slave, and Winggirl One, the turned-on smell was incredible. It was a cloud of girl, and it made me feel so close to my friends.

You might remember that I spanked a young lady at the Regular Dungeon night before this one, and afterwards she led me over to show me how big her boyfriend’s hands are? Said boyfriend (to be gleefully named The Puncher in the next post…) came over to chat and I asked if he might have time to flog me later. He said he didn’t have any tools with him, but we agreed that he probably didn’t need them, with hands like those. (The poor guys on this blog, so often reduced to a pair of hands…) As we kept chatting, his age came up and I realized I was hitting on a 20-year-old. And then I realized I didn’t care. His girlfriend was finishing up a scene and looking like she might need some attention, so I told him I’d come and find him later.

Cute Master told me it was my turn to kneel down in front of him, so I happily did. My face was smushed against the wall and he made me stick out my ass as much as I could. He was slower with me this time, more deliberate. He ran his hands over me affectionately between smacks and I realized he does have nice soft hands. I reminded him about the hair-pulling and he did it, pushing and pulling ecstatic adrenaline out of me.

My favorite part was the after time—I snuggled up to Pretty Slave, Cute Master put his arm around both of us, and we snuggled like a family of kittens. Sometimes a hand would feel me up and I’d be unsure of whose it was—that was the best feeling. They loosened up the top of her corset and with an “Is this okay?’ I reached in and played with her lovely soft bosoms, wanting to put them in my mouth but unsure if that was crossing a party rule line.

It was so comforting and peaceful laying there in their arms, a little oasis in the middle of a crazy world.

I like them, everybody. I really value them as friends and play-partners. Spending the evening at the dungeon with them made me feel connected and cared for in a new way. It made me feel more aligned with myself and made all of my friendships seem easier and deeper somehow. Maybe it was just the (as yet) rare feeling of getting to fully express being bi, to really start actively loving my orientation. Sheesh, it’s about time.

“You really are a cuddle slut,” she said.

“No! I wouldn’t cuddle with just anybody!”

“But you’d do this all night, wouldn’t you?”

I shrugged and nodded and went back to nuzzling and smooching her.

Life is tricky for me lately, ecstatic at times but also tiring and messy. I’m so grateful to my friends for being such a nice place to rest.

Next: I hold a girl down, run away, and get bent over the bar.


Because Sometimes My Life is Like a Romantic Comedy...

So yesterday a pal of who I met over the summer (at this party) (I complimented his naked bum and he told me I'm pre-approved to spank it.) added me on the facebook and after we'd chatted for a little bit about our respective switchy shenanigans, he revealed the real reason for writing. I kind of have to paste it in verbatim, but still it's really hard to believe:

Boy I'm Pre-Approved to Spank:  "Your name came up in conversation with a coworker of mine."

"My coworker was telling me about someone in the scene whom he really cared for, but fucked things up with (his words) because he wasn't ready.
I jokingly said I probably knew her and asked her name, and when he said (my name) I was pleasantly surprised to discover I knew just whom he meant.
so, if you have any interest, (Mister Hazel Eyes) is nervously hoping to get back in touch with you."
Me: "!!! He was a favorite! Really?!"
Boy I'm Pre-Approved to Spank: "She is an awesome person and I need to get ahold of her"
"I fucked things up with a little. I wasn't ready. now I am"
"i miss her. i need to apologize"
"She is a sweet darling girl"
etc."
Me: "Tell him to ask me out! I fucked up too and I always wondered what became of him! I can't believe it! (My phone number)
Crazy!"
Isn't that what everyone in the world hopes their exes are saying about them?!
So now I'm going out with Mister Hazel Eyes Friday night. It'll be fantastic to have closure about whatever made him disappear around this time last year.
He started to text a little dirty in the process of making the plans, but I was all, "You haven't earned the right to talk about underpants yet. Just because I'm a slut doesn't mean I'm not a PRINCESS."
Talking to him makes me want to give myself a gold star for how far I've come since last year--imagine! Me with self-esteem!







Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part Two: A Rope Daydream and My Winggirl Has to Go Buy Panties


Friends, the day might come before too long when I might learn the knots and start tying up good, sweet boys. As I sat around with Pretty Slave and Cute Master snuggling and watching the crowd, such a cute scene unfolded on the bench across from us.  They were a youngish couple, clearly smitten with each other, and the girl had the boy all done up in fairly tight but mostly decorative ropes. To add to the heartstring-tugging, their ropes were pink.

She pinched and prodded him some, but mostly she kissed and caressed him. The rope bottom guy reminded me a little bit of CBATP—same scruffy-but-sweet face, similar deer-eyes. Something about this bottom’s docile, adoring expression just woke something up in me, and I started to understand what was behind the expressions I’d sometimes enjoyed seeing on Doms’ faces: proprietary and protective, sweet and whole. Because ropes stir up such deep emotions, I feel like that kind of play might be a ways off, but it’s so cool to have felt those things.

I think it’s important right now not to over-identify with these feelings, but just try and slow down and experience them. I’m such an unformed cloud of energies and urges, I just need to sort of go with them without attaching or trying to pin myself down to any one identity or role. Not-attaching is so not my strong suit, but still!

Winggirl One pulled me out of my rope-inspired reverie when she came over with her CVS bag. She doesn’t wear undies and you need them to play at the Regular Dungeon. The resourcefulness of the moment cracked me up. Plus, she gave me the rest of the pack.

I stayed in my seat and she bent over in front of me, pulling down her pants. I reached up and pulled her shirt up most of the way, just for the sense of power pulling her out of her clothes gave me. I spanked her for a while, finding it easy to get a good rhythm going with so many spanks going on around me.

She wanted to kneel down so we switched spots. Kneeling on the bench, her face was kind of smushed into the wall. (I’d enjoy the same feeling shortly thereafter…) Cute Master showed me the best way to pull her hair, and then he and I high-fived. I think this is my record for most high-fives in a dungeon night!

When we finished, I gave her a big hug and told her she’d done an excellent job. She returned the compliment.

While being the spanker is still not the thing I go bonkers for, I like that I can give my subby friends a little extra fun in their evening. I also like the feeling of strength that comes out in me when I do it—I think the power-surge that came from topping served me very well throughout the rest of the evening. Also! Sexy arms are one of my goals and it was quite the workout!


Next: I watch, I get hit, I hold a girl down, and so on, and so on…

Monday, September 9, 2013

Really Irksome Gold Star



Oh everybody, I haz a sad. Today the Cutest Boy at the Party told me some stuff going on his relationship that showed me they’re not ready to welcome another person, maybe not even a playpal, definitely not a me. So I told him I’m backing away until things are more situated.

He said that he might be okay for a play partner situation before too long, but I had to admit that my heart was leaning toward something deeper with him. For whatever reason, I don’t really care that much about BDSM when it comes to him, I mostly just want to make out and roll around like happy kittens.

That might see like too much to know after a good cuddle and a week of good texts, but in my defense, they were really good texts, with a lot of “good girl” and “I’m proud of you” and such (Okay maybe it’s a little bit of a BDSM feeling…) plus the still-way-too-surprising feeling of being treated like a person he actually wants to know. I really have to get a little more used to that.

Also, it wasn’t just a snuggle. He was giving me aftercare on behalf of, like, ten people in a scene that was cathartic and transformative on so many levels. Of course it’s a little hard to have perspective about him, of course I got feelings. I probably need a little time just to fully realize what happened to me, just to let it sink in, take it to heart.

I miss him already and I HATE doing the stupid right thing, but I can’t put that much energy into somebody who is, for the most part, unavailable. I can’t invest so much imagination in another guy I can’t have. I want the “good girls” to be for real and the cuddles to be sincere and the other partners to be ready to welcome me with open arms.

I told him to give me a few weeks to try and find perspective and I hope I will. I’ve added him to the growing category of Hope it Comes Back Around and I feel proud, but lonely.

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part One: Maybe I Am a Girl Gone Wild



At the M/s meeting last weekend I got an interesting piece of advice. The head Master said “The only way to really learn what you want is to go out and try lots of things. You can’t do that with just one person.” That might explain the trapped feeling I’ve gotten even in recent lovey-dovey relationships I really liked. It’s probably just time to run and play on my own terms for a while.

But as I was getting ready to go out to the dungeon that night my heart was kinda full of the Cutest Boy at the Party. I was fretting about my crush on him because I knew neither one of us was in a place for too many feelings and had to admit I had the beginnings of them. I also knew that if I let the crush win, there wouldn’t be any more cute boys at all, just the missing of parties. So I put on my favorite black and white striped dress and cute underpants and drove over to the beloved Regular Dungeon. I didn’t know if I was gonna play but I knew I wanted to be surrounded by friends and spanky energy.

(By the way, since it was the weekend after my birthday, my brother had originally offered to fly me up to my sister’s to spend time with her family. I agonized over the two choices, but ultimately decided I’d spent too long using her family as a substitute for making my own. This is my way of making my own family, I think.)

When I walked in the door, the first people I spotted were Pretty Slave and Cute Master, sitting all cute in a row with their date plus their friend that I’d liked from the previous weekend’s party, the lady-sub who was so good at spanking me and whom I shall call Winggirl One--I have a feeling there may be some more Winggirls in my near future. I waved frantic-cheerfully to them across the room as I paid and rushed over as soon as I had my door bracelet on.

“He says I have to kiss you,” said Pretty Slave and I know I balked at that last time but apparently this time I had absolutely no problem with it. Maybe I really am a Girl Gone Wild but more likely, I just like her. Jeez she was so pretty with her collar on and her flowy hair and her being shorter than me so I feel all nice and protective.

I asked Winggirl One if she would beat me up after I had a glass of wine and she agreed. Pretty Slave was all, “Oh, I’ll have to see that,” and I was superhappy at the idea of entertaining her.

Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl weren’t there yet and it was a little strange focusing on other characters. I was starting to feel like I didn’t need protectors as much as I had before and that was a little sad.

Two bottomy-types trying to work out a spanking scene is pretty funny. I of course wanted to be out in the middle of things to show off but she felt self-conscious about it so we stayed in the bench (regular bench) area to the side of the room. I took off my dress and leggings, left on my purple shiny bra and lacy peach-with-purple-polka-dot underpants.

Winggirl One is about as Amazon-like as me but she has eensy little stingy hands. She hit hard and fast and it was so sweet that she didn’t want to make me uncomfortable by pulling my panties up my ass-crack for better cheek-access. I reached back and helpfully yanked them up for her. Unsurprisingly, I love a good wedgie.

I was kneeling on the bench and bent over a railing. My head was pretty close to some dude’s ears and I apologized but he just decided to become an instigator, egging her on and inspiring me to be louder and louder. Of course I’ll take any excuse. I met other strangers’ faces in the crowd and smiled.

After she was done hitting me, we had a nice long hug and Cute Master (being Cute Master) said “Kiss her!”

“Ohno,” said Winggirl One, “I don’t know how to initiate that.”

“Let me show you,” said Pretty Slave. She got up and gave me a kiss that went all through my body. I lost the self-consciousness of it, pulled her towards me by the waist, ran my hands up the back of her hair, and kissed her like I meant it, and I did.

Winggirl One was still hesitant still so I said “Do you need me to initiate it? Do you like your hair pulled?”

Her face got all lit-up and we practically high-fived for the awesomeness that is hair-pulling. She grabbed the top of the back of my hair, close enough to the scalp but still stingy, pushed me to my knees and put my face on the bench. I just lay there flattened and gasping.

“Wait, what was I doing?” I pulled myself back up, took off her glasses and handed them to Pretty Slave, grabbed the back of WO’s hair and went in hard for the kiss. I hadn’t tasted lipgloss on another girl since high school, and I have to say Katy Perry was not wrong about its appeal.

Then we really DID high-five and Cute Master admonished us for wrecking the hotness. But high-fives are awesome!


Next: There’s a LOT of girl-smell on this bench.

Friday, September 6, 2013

And The Winner for Best Making Me Type With Slippery Hands Is...

Ohmygoodness friends! The Cutest Boy at the Party is decidedly also the most excellent boy in my phone. Not only does he send me lots of friendly and attentive regular texts, but he also sometimes says things that make me go from zero to gushing in like two seconds. Also he's reading me, and you know that's the best way to get on my good side.

Not that he always wants to be on my good side--he's a switch and his bottomy aspects bring out some deliciously growly feelings in me--I've spent lots of quality fantasy time plotting against him. When I see that boy he'd better watch. Out.

Anyway, be proud of yourself, honey. It's been a long week and the company and text-slutty afternoons made it amazing. Such a good boy.


Thursday, September 5, 2013

Birthday Spanks and Unicorn Snuggles Part Four: An Inconvenient Epiphany

 I like to leave a party while I’m still having fun, so after the Beatles sing-along and one more piece of cake, I started saying my goodbyes. Cute Master and Pretty Slave were disappointed--they’d assumed I was staying over because I had my PJs on and probably also because I’d been hitting on them off and on for about a month.

“Just let us molest you for five minutes,” he said, and that seemed reasonable, so I let them lead me into their bedroom and I climbed into their big satiny bed.

Being between them was a rush of unmitigated joy, him pressing himself into my back, her in front, both with their hands all over me. It was a transcendent moment of giving myself over.

He lay back and asked us both to blow him, but I couldn’t—we hadn’t done the when-were-we-all-last tested talk and besides I was worried about the emotional attachments that tend to happen to me, especially when confronted with large friendly penises.

“I can’t, I’ll get attached,” I said, and they both seemed befuddled.

“It’s okay to have a crush, we both like you…” But I just couldn’t. So she blew him and I watched. He rubbed my clit through my pajama bottoms. I was soaking wet from the however many hours of attention I’d just had and I liked the idea of walking out through the party with a wet spot afterwards.

“Come on, let me fuck you (my name)” He snarled.

Ohboy I really liked hearing my name that way but I knew I couldn’t and also I didn’t want to.

“No. Feelings!” I said. “I don’t want to fuck anyone I can’t belong to.”

Crap. I hadn’t actually put that preference into words before, but given my various FWB aches, it makes sense.

“Well, then, you’re just gonna have to watch me fuck her.”

“Hooray!”

I like helping. I put my arms around Pretty Slave and kissed her, played with her nipples, held her tight while he spread her legs and pushed in. She had such pretty little cries at first, building up to throatier groans.

He shoved his hand down my pants and pushed his fingers in hard, in the same rhythm he was fucking her. We yowled together and I enjoyed imagining the party guests listening downstairs.

As he started to get close to coming, he said, “Kiss her, kiss her hard, let me see tongues, come on.” And I did, in the exaggerated showoffy way that he wanted. That’s the one part I really didn’t like, despite her loveliness. The whole kissing-a-girl-to-turn-on-a-guy thing is just, no. (Does this disqualify me from unicorn fun? Jeez I hope not) I may have flashed my boobs for beads earlier that day, but I’m just not a Girl Gone Wild at heart.

I did love the feeling of contributing, holding her tight and helping her through it—that was absolutely beautiful. When they’d finished, he got dressed quick and went back to the party, citing a dislike of snuggling. (Which, oops, is one of my minimum play partner expectations, come to think of it.)

Pretty Slave and I snuggled and talked. I told her I was surprised about the not wanting to fuck and explained about my summer adventures and not wanting my heart to get me left out of parties. She was so sweet and understanding and still very strongly in favor of me fucking her boyfriend, which is really nice.

I think I may not be ready for unicorning or even for ladies post-Sweetie, but I’m so glad I followed them into that bedroom and got to enjoy the warmth and energy of them. As I said my goodbyes again (this time with awesome bed head) and left for real, I was proud of the night everyone had helped me make, so grateful to my new friends for being so game and helping me make my birthday fantasies into realities. Being vulnerable to the whole crowd was a huge win, and so was being true to what I wanted and (most of) what I didn’t want.

Dear Sunday night, thank you and thank you and thank you. It’s all the way Thursday now and the effects still haven’t worn off. What an amazing gift.